


Motion Tabled

by Davechicken



Series: The Emperor and his Knight [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BDSM, Dark, M/M, dark au, dark!Poe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 19:19:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6163795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kylo needs punishing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Motion Tabled

Kylo still had bad days. They were fewer, and further between, now that Poe was the Emperor. He felt safer by far, and more able to be his real self. But some days he still didn’t feel so… _well_. The sensible part of him said _no of course you won’t, you spent fifteen years being manipulated by the Jedi, then another fifteen under Snoke, you were never your own man. Of course it will take time to feel better_.

But then the **less kind** part said something like: _You traded a Jedi Master for a Ren Leader for a Force-blind Soldier-Master. Do you really think you’re free, now?_

Kylo told that part of him that yes, he was free. Because he’d _chosen_ Poe. He **wanted** Poe. He loved him. He loved him, and always had. And it was _different_ from how he’d felt about his Uncle, or about the once-Supreme Leader. It wasn’t just that they were in a sexual relationship, it was… deeper. He trusted Poe. He always, always had. Always, always would.

Not to mention Poe loved him back. He would never have run with him, when he did, if he _didn’t_. And even if his erstwhile Uncle thought he _loved_ him, and cared for him, and wanted him safe… he **hadn’t** protected him, where Poe had. And Snoke, too, had said he was _invested_ in Kylo, but his ends had been his own, and Kylo knew the only person who really - truly - on all levels put Kylo first?

It wasn’t Kylo. It was Poe.

But he still had bad days, all the same. Maybe the Resistance (such as it still was) had hidden from their raids, alerted by some spy deep in their ranks. Or perhaps his Knights had been difficult to control. Or maybe a holo had come on that _reminded him of something_ , or even something as simple as the smell of a dish he hadn’t eaten since - since - 

He tried to keep himself in check, he really did. He tried so hard for Poe, because Poe had enough to deal with, running the First Order. Poe had his own personal need to excel, to be the best at what he did, but Poe also was here because Kylo was. Their fates were wound too tightly to be split apart by such petty things as _Light and Dark_ or _Good and Evil_. And Kylo was grateful, he was, it was…

It was just…

Some days…

Kylo had probably choked the bearer of bad tidings. It was unprofessional of him, and also childish, but he’d done it before he could think about it. He’d lashed out, and lashed out harder because the _minion_ was privy to something that should really be private. What happened was a blur, and his mind _whirled_ in and out of focus, desperately trying to stay _here_. In the **moment**. To ground himself and remain _present_. He’d probably choked him, and he couldn’t even remember, and if he thought about the failing memory too much he’d get even more distressed.

Things were getting out of control again. He… _he_ was getting out of control again. Which was why Poe had sent for him.

Poe normally couched these things delicately, or so Kylo found out later, when his sensible mind was back in control. “Please ask Lord Ren to come see me soonest.” At no point did he say: _Because he’s acting like a spoilt, angry, tantruming child who needs bending over my knee and spanking._ But in Kylo’s head, even the summons meant the person would **read between the lines** and see through his mask, and know he was falling to pieces and he just - he just needed -

Needed to be here. In the Emperor’s private audience chamber. Away from their bed, their couch, their cushions, and those things that were _comforting_ and **home**. Kylo didn’t know how Poe worked out that it was best to split this particular… need… like this, but he had. He kept punishment and chastisement away from the softer, comforting parts of their daily lives together. It helped him feel more relaxed and loving when they were there. It also meant _this_ was out in the open. It was **acknowledged** , because this… was a ritual, all of its own.

And like any ritual, it had its rules, structure, and regulations. Things Kylo insisted he _hated_ , but in truth… when they were Poe’s? No. He _needed_ that. Needed Poe’s harsh, but fair justice. It made sense of a chaotic galaxy, and it gave him a point of reference he could rely upon. Poe would make this better, and when Kylo’s whole mind was skittering to the four winds, Poe’s steady, calm, **deliberate** presence would be a tether back to reality for him.

(Sometimes, Kylo worried his needy behaviour would become too much. He whispered as much, into Poe’s ear, and Poe told him: no. Told him he loved him. Told him he cared for him. Told him his love wasn’t conditional, wasn’t dependent upon anything whatsoever. Told him there would be no step too far, that he could rail against him as much as he needed. Told him no matter how fiercely Kylo fought his control or affection, Poe would still give both. And Kylo didn’t know why Poe was so determined to be everything Kylo needed, but he was. And on good days, Kylo tried to be the same for him. Maybe Poe _needed_ the challenge of a broken, fierce, snapping lover who would then bow to lick his boots. Maybe it worked both ways.)

“Lord Ren.”  


Poe - _Emperor Dameron_ \- used his full title mostly in public, and mostly when decorum required it. If he used it in private… it was either a shared joke, or it was a serious failure on his part, and one he had to atone for.

“Emperor,” Kylo replied, lingering in the doorway. Lingering, and refusing to step any further into his chamber. It was vast, and vaulted. The kind of room a yell would travel around for days. The kind with walls so high you could never spray blood that high up if you even nicked an artery.   


“Come here.”  


Kylo considered _resisting_. Poe had told the men (and women, troops, whatever… the _people in uniforms_ ) that they were equal partners, equal voices in their working relationship. A union of Force and Order. He’d told them that they were the _same_ , but Kylo had never taken up as much of a visible mantle of power as Poe had. In fact, he had barely changed his working practices at all, it was now just that there was no shadowy man over his head. He worked with - for - _alongside_ \- Poe. That was it. 

But he wasn’t equal, not really. Or… not by choice, anyway. He didn’t want to be, he wanted Poe to be in control. Not just outside, but in here, too. He didn’t know if his sexual deviance was a direct result of his past, but frankly… he didn’t care. It got him off, it got him off **hard** , and it got Poe off, too. So it was fine. It was all great.

(And maybe, said an even _smaller_ treacherous voice, maybe the bad days were just him finding an excuse to be punished. Because he thought he needed it, and because he knew he’d get it if he was _acting off_. And even on his worst days, his temper tantrums and his broken consoles and his lightly-asphyxiated minions were all _tolerable collateral damage_. Deliberately kept in check, by some higher function in his mind that he couldn’t really properly connect with. **Controlled** loss of control. **Limited** chaos. And if so, he wished that bit of him would put its efforts as strongly into other things he required. It was smarter by far than he ever could be, consciously, anyway.)

Kylo… walked inside. Each step harder than the last, the gaze of his lover, his Emperor, his **Master** like the gravity well of an Interdictor-class ship. He couldn’t escape, not unless Poe willed it. Before he even got ten foot away, he was down on one knee, head lowered, shaking very subtly.

“You know why I have summoned you here, don’t you?”  


“Yes, my Emperor,” he said, and ran his gloved thumbs across his palms. Needing the sensation, needing the regulation of it. Needing to remind himself to stay _here_ and **now**. To remember that this body was his, and he was in it. And he had done things he’d done, and he was the person he was.   


Poe - _The Emperor_ \- said nothing else, and Kylo knew, by the silence, that he’d… fucked up. He had. He’d fucked up. He’d gone too far, and he’d acted too brashly, and he’d thrown one fit too many. Poe didn’t _need_ to reprimand him. He knew, by the very air that hung between them, the depths of his sins and transgressions. It was easier to face up to it, here. To admit to it, and to stop doing it. Here, where Poe would judge him, pass sentence, and then forgive him. Outside… outside was another matter.

It would be easier if he didn’t need this. It would.

“I am sorry,” he said, quietly. Breathing loud behind the mask, in the confines of his shell.   


“Why did you do it?”  


“I…” Why? “I… was… upset.”  


“What upset you, Lord Ren?”  


What indeed? Sometimes he didn’t even know. Some things he could work out, in hindsight. Some he knew the moment it happened. Others were at the vagaries of cosmic winds and internal rhythms so deep down that he could never hope to track the swirls in his psyche. He shook his head. “I’m - I–”

“Come closer.”  


Kylo did. He dropped to both knees, and then to his hands, and he came closer. He sank back down onto his haunches when he got close enough, keeping his head down. The temper part of this was already gone, and maybe that was progress? There’d been times when Poe had literally needed to _beat_ it out of him, and Kylo had occasionally panicked that he might go too far in his own defence, and use the Force, and hurt Poe in return. But he hadn’t. Not ever. It had been close, once, but Poe had grabbed his hand and stared him in the eye and **ordered** him to stop. Poe, who had no Force ability whatsoever. He’d just _looked him_ in the eye. He’d been so unafraid of Kylo, or so convinced of their connection, or **something** … and Kylo had known, all the way into his core, that he could _never truly hurt Poe_ , and he’d fallen in line faster and faster each time since then.

So very, very fast, sometimes. All it took was a glance, a word, a click of fingers through gloves. From Knight and Trouble to Pet and Beloved. Kylo made himself smaller, and still didn’t look up.

“I thought we said you’d cut down on these little episodes?”  


Kylo had done, and he was sure he’d _actually_ cut down on them, but it wasn’t as if he had a diary. Maybe he should start keeping one. He nodded. He had no excuse, or explanation. If he wanted to stop himself enough, he would find a way, wouldn’t he? So it was a simple answer: either he couldn’t, or he didn’t want to. And in honesty, the answer might be _less_ simple, a combination of both.

“I’ll still have to punish you.” His voice was level, caring, but also stern. It sent shivers down Kylo’s back, and he grabbed hold of Poe’s boots and pushed his forehead into the toecap of the closest.   


“I am sorry, Master. Please. Punish me.”  


“And will you learn your lesson, if I do?”  


Kylo froze. That question was new. He tried to make himself even _smaller_. So small he could maybe vanish entirely into the shadows, could pull his hands back and retreat to somewhere else. Somewhere… where? He had literally nowhere else in the galaxy, and nowhere else in the galaxy he would **want** to be. “Master…”

“We’ve done this before. You keep doing it.”  


Kylo looked up, and tried to get Poe to stop. But he kept up that _awful silence_ that felt like a judgement all of its own. Poe looked down, and Kylo looked up. “Master…”

“Be honest with me, Kylo. You owe me that, don’t you?”

Kylo cringed, and tried to duck his head, but a toecap under his mask lifted his head back up. “Master, I don’t–”

“Admit it.”  


“Master!”  


Kylo _did not want to._ Did not want to. A battle of wills behind a grilled mask, and then he - he swallowed and - “…I will… I will… always need. This. I will need to… to… be bad. And… for you to… for you to punish me.” It was so very, very hard to get the words out. They wavered on that fine line between _so very hurt_ that his voice felt like spitting out broken transparisteel shards, and so very, very **dull** and dead and emotionless, like he sometimes felt when it was too much. 

More silence. It was _impossible to bear_. It arced between them, the gaps between words like jumping from broken ice-islands over a fast-moving river: trying to keep just this side of the waterfall into **oblivion**. It was the point, but it didn’t mean he had to _like it_.

“And you want me to continue to punish you? Even though there will never be an end to it? Even though you may never feel like I’ve done it enough?”  


And that was the crux of it. It wouldn’t be, and that… that wasn’t Poe’s fault. That was Kylo’s. He… nodded, and was aware that he’d started to cry under his mask, at some point. He wasn’t sure when, but now he was struggling to see, and fighting the need to sniffle. He did **not need to sniffle**. That was what _children did_. A tiny, tiny, tiny nod.

“Then we’ll do it,” Poe said, and kicked lightly at his mask, making Kylo move out of the way. 

His Master got up, and walked over to the main desk in this room. Kylo waited for the sign, then crawled over on all fours, ready for whatever he deemed necessary. His stomach was jumping happily at the thought of Poe knowing - and _acknowledging_ \- his need. His… permanent (if cyclical) need. He waited for the next sign, and he stood respectfully up. Poe then grabbed the back of his head, turned it slightly, and slammed him across the wooden surface.  


They’d done this enough that they knew how to do it so it didn’t, actually, concuss him. His chest hit first, and it was a _fight_ to keep his hands from breaking his fall. But he did it, and then Poe pushed his head into the desk. Hard. Kylo’s breathing went rapid, and then started to even out under the show of force. He bent his wrists behind him, and clasped each forearm with the other wrist, crossed as high up his back as he could get them.

“We’ll do it every time you need it, pet.”  


“…thank you, Master.”  


At some point, Poe had found himself a crop. Kylo had never questioned how, or when, and instead thanked the Maker. It meant he could hit him for longer, and with more power than just his hand. His hand was _good_ , and it was **personal** , but sometimes he wanted it to go on for longer, and his ass was more robust than any hand could ever be. He parted his legs, and presented his ass as high as he could, finding the first stirrings of that _other_ mentality at just the sight of Poe wielding the black, thin, stinging toy. Tool. _Instrument_. He closed his eyes and savoured the first swat. It was hard, and it made his left thigh burn deliciously, and he moaned in soft approval.

Poe sometimes liked the noises, sometimes didn’t. Kylo would normally test the waters, now. He had been very quiet to begin with, and Poe had been worried about gauging his reactions when he hadn’t _shown_ any, so now he found his ways to communicate his pleasure and gratitude, however he could. By now they knew one another well enough that it was easy, but he _still_ thought he should give Poe audible proof of his contentment. Or discontent contentment. 

The blows came fast and hard, traversing his whole ass. Lighter around the edges, closer to his waist and hips, then heavier on the thicker muscle. Slaps right across the backs of his legs, and one that glanced close to his balls. The pain was variable, like his mood: one minute so hard he rocked against the table, then a low, calming drumming. He was in heaven, coasting a wave of pure sensation without any judgement. Not really. Not when it landed. It was the punishment, not the judgement. The penance. He felt some more of the tension bleed away with every impact, felt his physical form flood with blood and arousal of a different kind. Everything got so sharp and present, the colours dancing behind his eyes felt like someone turned the saturation and contrast all the way up. He could feel every breath he took in, could sense the ripples in the Force just before every blow landed. It was… it was wonderful.

On and on, until he was a shaking mess. He was sure he’d made a terrible mess inside his helmet, crying tears of pure joy. His arms ached from the position he’d been holding, his calves trembling from the too-low desk. The pain wasn’t even really pain any more, it was something _else_. A high sensation, and one he sort of floated above. Connected, but not. Here, but also… _gone_. It was exhilarating, to say the least. He watched, almost outside his own form, as Poe stroked over the black fabric he’d been pounding, and nodded. 

His robes were parted, and Poe vanished for a moment. His pants were pushed down, and he presented his ass even higher in response. A hand swatted at his bare cheeks, and then there was something cold and firm and slick and… oh _yes_. Poe was sliding a toy of some form into him. It was only small, to begin with, but it was enough. He breathed through it, trying to open up, trying to bear down on it. It flared all of a sudden, and he called out in pleased surprise. From the feel of it, Poe had chosen to plug his hole for the night. He tensed around it, found it small, but a welcome intrusion and stretch all the same. It meant he likely wouldn’t get fucked tonight, but he _might_ get fucked in the morning, and that sent a thrill through him to the core. 

Kylo loved to be fucked by Poe. He did. But he wasn’t allowed to be treated for bad behaviour, or it encouraged more of it. This was as much as he’d get. In fact… he was lifted slightly higher, and then there was a sudden cold, cold hell. Rings of metal slid around his cock, and then leather straps and studs around his balls. His already-stiff cock complained at being so bound, and he had to bite his lip not to object. 

“Good pet,” Poe told him, and Kylo didn’t feel like it. A good pet wouldn’t freak out at the thought of chastity.   


His pants were pulled back up, and that was obviously _it_. He wouldn’t come tonight. The knowledge frustrated him, but it was a) the point and b) his own fault. It was part of their pact, after all. If he needed punishment, he **got** punishment. 

It still chafed. He could feel every last stitch and rivet and connection around his swollen dick. He could _feel_ it. And he wanted **more**. He bit his lip, and turned his head towards his Emperor. “M…master?” He rocked experimentally against what he could of the table. It was a mistake, because now the cage around him gave him more friction, and prevented any real sense of release he might otherwise have had.

“You haven’t deserved anything today, pet. Have you?”  


Kylo shook his head. No. He hadn’t.

“So you’re going to come and kneel in front of me.” Hands grabbed the back of his mask, his helmet, and dragged him away from the table. Kylo had to duck his head down awkwardly low, his back hurting, to let himself be pulled by the metal shroud. He followed him obediently to the throne-like chair, and dropped to his knees when he was told to do so. He clasped his hands behind his back, and when he sat down he realised the position gave him a little more leverage. He could try to ride that plug and… oh _fuck_. He could get it to move by tensing and sitting down on it, but Poe had picked one too small to properly stimulate him inside. It felt full, and it breached him nicely, but it wouldn’t hit his prostate, no matter how hard he tried.   


Poe was evil. And wicked. And cruel. And Kylo loved him all the more.

He looked up and saw Poe realise he’d come to that conclusion, because there was a twinkle in his eyes, and a curl to his lips. Kylo loved him _more_. 

His Emperor put his hand in his pants, slipping his zipper down if it was the simplest thing in the world to do. He leaned back on one arm, and he put one foot up and on the arm of the chair. Draped, like the delicious thing he was. Kylo’s mouth went dry at the flash of dark curls, and Poe’s hand went inside his pants to fondle himself slowly harder. Kylo wanted to offer to do that for him, or give him his mouth, or even his hole, but he knew he’d been _bad_ , so he had to **not**. 

Not seeing his cock was somehow hotter, in a way. Just the movement visible in the back of his hand and the flexion of bones under skin, the twist in his wrist. He could see the muffled shape of his hand around his dick, and Kylo licked his lips under his mask. Damn, but he wanted that.

“You’re being punished, remember,” Poe said, without anger. Kylo nodded.  


Oh, he knew. He knew, as he watched and listened to the soft rustling sounds of fabric parting, of the skin-to-skin rubbing. Poe’s breathing barely shifted, and Kylo _needed_ to make him happy. He did. He could make it better! He could. He looked angrily up, the swelling sensation of–

–Poe lifted one leg. Dropped his booted foot on Kylo’s shoulder, to better spread himself. He stroked faster, and then he pulled his cock free. Kylo could only see quick flashes between the rapid jerking, and he stayed as still as he could. Memorising the flashes of cockhead out of palm, the vein he knew was there and begging for a tongue. The dusky mess of hairs, and he - he - _wanted so badly and -_

Poe’s climax hit fast, and he tugged Kylo closer with that leg behind his neck. He pulled him in close, and he beat the come right out of himself, spurting all over Kylo’s mask. It went to waste, marring the black leather and durasteel, and Kylo _whined_ in annoyance. He **wanted it**. He wanted it, and he loved that he was **denied** , all the same. Poe kept going until he was fully satisfied, and then he leaned forwards to wipe the final streaks over the top of Kylo’s helmet. Then he lowered his leg, tucked his cock away, and got up. He walked over to his desk, and sat to do some more work.

Kylo waited for a moment, then he went to crawl into the footwell under the desk. Poe didn’t object, and he curled around his feet like the good pet he was.

He’d clean the mess from his mask later. If he behaved, Poe might let him lick it clean. The dull, aching need in his groin was a constant pleasure-pain, and he tried to both ignore and enjoy it. 

Poe was the best Master anyone could ever ask for. Kylo felt boots lifted to rest on his back, and he huddled ever tighter into himself. Poe was _the_ best Master. Kylo smiled, under his mask. He was starting to feel much better again. 


End file.
